


==> DESERTEERS

by GlassesBlu, Grubbutts, Ihasa (Ihasafandom)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternian Desert, Ashen Romance | Auspistice, Body Horror, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Campfire stories, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Carapaces, Cloning Eugenics, Comedy, Death, Embedded Images, Exiles, Intermission, Intermission (Homestuck), M/M, Midnight Crew - Freeform, Multi, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Polyamory, Polyamory Big Bang, Pre-Canon, Torture, raw meat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-19 23:30:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17611127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassesBlu/pseuds/GlassesBlu, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grubbutts/pseuds/Grubbutts, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ihasafandom/pseuds/Ihasa
Summary: ⇒ WHAT CAN YOU SEE?The earth’s surface carries rolling sandy pastel hills and immense rocks and bones of the long dead. In the sky above hang two bright moons, and shimmering dusty air, and stars innumerable. And beyond that, void, endless, uncaring, and devoid of life - long conquered, then gone extinct. But the story is down here, amongst the dunes, where a short grumbling black-shelled insect-like creature is taking a hike, as if he had any choice in the matter.⇒ BE JACK NOIRYou cannot be Jack Noir - just because he was Jack Noir and is that no longer, does not mean you can go about stealing names. He’s the Scurrilous Straggler, and if that’s a mouthful, too bad for you. You’re saying the whole thing whether you like it or not.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the Intermission, to the bastard mobster alien men who ruled my life when I was sad and young, to a life of jumping into fandom, and to all the dear friends I made along the way
> 
> It's cheesy, but I love you guys, you know who you are!!!
> 
> Special thanks to assigned amazing artists, fantastic work ihasafandom and grubbutts!!!
> 
> And thanks to my supreme beta reader Echo (calcium_chloride), I couldn't have written this without you <3

**⇒ WHAT CAN YOU SEE?**

The earth’s surface carries rolling sandy pastel hills and immense rocks and bones of the long dead. In the sky above hang two bright moons, and shimmering dusty air, and stars innumerable. And beyond that, void, endless, uncaring, and devoid of life - long conquered, then gone extinct. But the story is down here, amongst the dunes, where a short grumbling black-shelled insect-like creature is taking a hike, as if he had any choice in the matter.

**⇒ BE JACK NOIR**

You cannot be Jack Noir - just because he _was_ Jack Noir and is that no longer, does not mean you can go about stealing names. He’s the Scurrilous Straggler, and if that’s a mouthful, too bad for you. You’re saying the whole thing whether you like it or not.

**⇒ FINE**

The Scurrilous Straggler is in his own head as he makes his way forward, wrapped in graying sheets, with makeshift weaponry slung around his frame (most of the stabbing variety). The carapace-cooking heat of the short and definitely-not-sweet light time makes the chill of the dark tolerable - that does not mean he is going to passively accept it without a fight. If it isn’t the unpleasant chill, it’s the sand in his joints (all coarse, and rough, and irritating), or the hunger of his inner cavities (which hasn’t killed him yet), or even just the boredom of it all. Scurrilous Straggler can say he appreciates a good silence, argue that he’s a connoisseur of dead air - but that is, in fact, a lie. The Scurrilous Straggler continuously makes loud rambling conversation with himself in an effort to not have to listen to nothing at all.

He scans a map he snatched from a double-crossing Wastrel (who is also very dead), and looks to the stars. His map reading skills are rudimentary at best, fuck if he knows if this is the right direction. He curses at the stars for good measure. Really shakes his fist up at them. The only company he’s got. They regard him with cold silence, mocking him with their deadness and distance.

He trudges onward, readjusting his various slings as he goes. He has places to be.

**⇒ BE SOMEONE ELSE**

Again, you are no one, and cannot be anyone. And you certainly do not want to be this guy

**⇒ WHO IS HE?**

The guy in question is atop a dune, surveying the land as it opens up before him. He stands statuelike - cold, imposing, and stiff. He’s wrapped neatly in worn cloth, and grips an iron staff stained heavily with rust and other things. On his chest is the mark of a faded diamond.

There isn’t much for him to eyeball. Pastel desert notwithstanding, the whole lot of it is a sprawling emptiness. Maybe a few huge rocks here and there. Faraway pillars, large skeletons, abandoned cities - the usual desert stuff. Same old shit for this guy.

He squints at the sight of a distant flash and rising smoke. An indication of activity, and not something he cares for in the slightest.

He casually flicks dust off his shoulders as the stars above twinkle in blessed silence. He’s spent a good long time by himself, and he isn’t stopping now. And if he catches anyone spying on him - let’s just say that they won’t like what happens.

He’s the Drifter, and he has nowhere to be. He continues on his somber way.

**⇒ YOU HEARD HIM, SCRAM**

Elsewhere, a diminutive fool is scrambling away from a glorious explosion, breathlessly coughing out laughter.

The moment is not according to plan, but he has never made a plan in his life. He certainly didn't mean to set off his homebrew bombs all at once - such materials are hard to come by in the wastelands - but oh! What joy they bring! What delight!

He runs off into the night, looking over his shoulder to witness such sublimity.

A while back, he had joined with a small pack of carapaces, after the unfortunate end of his former droll companions to some wild creature. Things were good for a hot minute as the party walked through a massive ribcage, until a scuffle broke out between a Prospitian and a Dersite  over some pointless mythological tales. Sides were taken, and soon a full on brawl was taking place. Old habits die hard, even in a lawless land, and he had thrown some things around in the excitement of the moment. That included bombs. Thus here we are - a blast of light, metal scraping shell, pained screaming, acrid smoke, and the crunch of feet against sand. He sees the magnificent destruction, and keeps running, chest pumping with joy.

**⇒ WELL THEN**

Nearby, a big guy covered in ratty bloody sheets sees plumes of smoke erupt close to the hill where he has made camp. His ass remains planted in its designated position, because to hell if he has his first proper meal in ages interrupted by some goons looking to make a ruckus. If anybody has the gall to come pester him they’re gonna get a real beating of a lifetime.

To his dismay, the shockwaves of the explosion destabilize the sand, and his ass sinks and slides as the hill disintegrates around him.

Just once in his fucking life could things stay good for a second. His gig back on Derse had been alright (if not reaching his full bodily potential) until he got kicked, and staying on this fucking dustball in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to do, and nary a fellow to do some friendly (or unfriendly) violence with, is driving him fucking nuts. Couldn’t he at least have had some sordid books with the amorous sentiments of lovers young or old? Could he not have been given some fanciful literature made for throbbing hearts and longing souls??? Alas, nothing good ever lasts more than 5 seconds if the cynical but dashingly handsome hero of one of his favorite long lost romantic novels is to be believed.

**⇒ LOOK AT HIM GO!**

The former Dersite agent falls through, unable to find solidity as his carapace is raked with scratchy wind and waves of heat and soot. A heavy mass flies through the air and crashes into him at full force, knocking him backward and further disorienting him. When all is said and done he finds himself half buried in a pit, with the heavy object in question whooping and cheering and dancing on his body.

The Heartless Bandit [HB] would throttle the puny nuisance if he could - unfortunately, one arm is deep underground, while the other has the Cheery Deadbeat [CD] barely out of reach. The brute shouts obscenities at that little prick, saying he’ll be real sorry when the Bandit digs himself out. The Deadbeat pays no mind, still high on the devastation of detonation. HB digs, but when the sand is piled steep enough, the gentlest of vibrations collapse the pile back inward. HB yells himself to the point of exhaustion, and it is only then that he realizes that he didn’t even get to take one bite out of his spoils which he had caught and killed himself. He would sob, but crying is for sissies and carapaces who _aren’t_ dehydrated. Truly, when life throws you on some garbage planet and takes your roasted meal, you lay half buried in a ditch to fucking perish. He closes his eyes in resignation. This is it.

CD stands over HB and asks if he’s done. He responds that of course he’s fucking done, he’s tired, he’s hungry, he’s stuck, and when the sun rises he’ll cook to death like some kind of _egg_. CD says that HB doesn’t need to be _dramatic_ , silly, and that he can help dig out HB and share some of his supplies. The Heartless Bandit stares up incredulously at the Deadbeat, even as CD starts scooping up sand and chattering on about meaningless bullshit.

Hours of sand shifting, arm pulling, muscle straining work later, the Bandit is free and he and the Deadbeat hurry off into a monstrous skull the size of a two-storey building, seeking shade. Both immediately fall asleep, and snooze the daylight away.

 

 

**[by Ihasafandom]**

**⇒ WHAT’S SS UP TO?**

It's Scurrilous Straggler, you chucklefuck. You fucking buffoon.

**⇒ ALRIGHT! JEEZ**

He's fine.

The Scurrilous Straggler's final destination is still but a speckle of bumps in the great horizon. He’s nearing some caves, which is just dandy because this shithole planet's sun is readying to show its unwanted face.

On the dawn of the first day of his life on this planet, the Scurrilous Straggler had been incapacitated from the extreme heat, and for days he was sick and suffering. He knows now, has timed the length of light to dark, has done his best to plan his travels. He's not always that lucky.

He hastens his entrance even if he’s got a while yet - lo and behold he spies another figure already within the cave. It’s a taller Carapace, Dersite, with a heavy looking weapon - wait a minute! The Scurrilous Straggler recognizes that ugly mug anywhere! The Scurrilous Straggler wastes no time in greeting an old friend.

**⇒ HE STABS A GOOD FOR NOTHING RAT BASTARD**

It’s that useless excuse of a Derse agent, the Dignitary - that lazy ass pissant never turned in a file on time in his life, always smoking away and stinking up the place. The pissant in question is now very aware of his rather stab-happy company. Well hello to you too says the Drifter as he swings his staff at the head of the former Archagent. The Scurrilous Straggler ducks, and the staff strikes the against the sandstone with a loud clang. The Drifter grabs the wrist of the hand holding the knife and twists it, causing his old colleague to howl in pain. The Scurrilous Straggler grabs a second knife and thrusts it furiously at his fellow exile, turning his howling into an enraged battlecry. This altercation could have persisted indefinitely, as both of these jackasses refuse to die, but everything has to end eventually. This ends with two bloodied boneheads slump against each other as the sun makes its way across the sky.

So, hey, says the Scurrilous Straggler. Hey yourself says the Depraved Drifter [DD]. They’re both wheezing and absolutely wasted, unable to do much else except stand there.

The Drifter looks down at his ex associate. Literally nothing has changed about him. Still a literal thorn at his side, annoyingly foolhardy, perplexingly raucous, and utterly impressive. DD doesn’t get the drive of this halfwit, but he respects it.

The Straggler thumps the Drifter’s chest with a weak hey, and that brings DD back to this moment.

What, says the Drifter.

The Scurrilous Straggler looks DD in the eyes, says he could use a man like the Drifter on his side. Aside from being  terrible at filing, the Drifter had at least killed for the Scurrilous Straggler, no questions asked. The Straggler remembers that too.

And what’s in it for myself, queries DD. On Derse the Straggler had power. Here, the Straggler has nothing.

The Straggler pauses at this, face scrunching up in thought. What would he have to offer someone he just attacked, in the middle of nowhere, for no other reason than being reminded of a quarrel from another era entirely.

And his face lights up, and the Straggler says cigarettes. He’ll give the Drifter cigarettes.

Cigarettes? Where in the Queen’s name will the Straggler get cigarettes, sneers the Drifter, disbelieving of the plain yet impossible offer.

Obviously, ya knucklehead, he will have the best damn cigarettes the Drifter could ever want produced and provided, says the Straggler as he grins up and the Drifter. Just trust him on this. The Straggler has plans.

The Scurrilous Straggler thrusts his hand forward and looks at the Drifter expectantly.

The Drifter sighs, and takes it, sealing the deal.

 

 

**[by Grubbutts]**

**⇒ AND THE DAY PASSES BY OVER CREATURES AT REST AND PLANS SET IN MOTION**

A windy night blooms over the wasteland, lit bright by the planet’s moons that shine over a couple of well-rested newly-made allies looting some corpses.

CD and HB gather their small pile of stuff picked off of the dead carapaces. The bric-a-brac are a little charred or stink of burning, but for the most part, their collection of metal bits, shiny things, and paper shreds are still salvageable. HB goes through the papers -  just some personal notes, an old grocery list, faded pictures where one can’t even make out features of the subject - mostly boring and useless crap, but they’re better than nothing. There’s doodles of a Prospitian and a Dersite pounding one out. Kinky.

CD tucks away the rest, little treasures to keep and hold on to. They also find a few cans of food, which HB immediately crushes open, wasting no time chugging down cans of mysterious meat. He also tosses some to CD who opens them more sensibly by hitting them with various rocks.

They chat idly, meaning CD prattles on about wandering around the desert, meeting folks, getting to know some real cool characters, and their subsequent deaths. It’s a shame really, says CD as he gathers some of their trash for their fun bonfire, some of em were a real hoot and a half. Then they had to go get impaled, or cut in half, or eaten alive by big ol lizards. The mention of bloodshed piques HB’s interest, and the conversation devolves to CD recounting some pretty gruesome ends with enthusiasm, and HB quips with his own tales of dastardly deeds of pilfering lives from unfortunate souls. Both are too distracted to notice CD drop an intact explosive into the waiting flame.

**⇒ MEANWHILE,**

The Straggler has complained about his humiliating and pathetic debasement as the Derse Queen’s top office lackey for hours on end as they journey toward whatever undisclosed location the Straggler had decided upon while the Drifter just tunes him out. Once in a while he throws in a huff of acknowledgement just to appease his former and current boss. What he wouldn’t give to whack that idiot in the head, but that’s more trouble than it’s worth. Still, that doesn’t stop the Drifter from duskdreaming of strangling the Straggler, wanting to silence the seemingly ceaseless spewing of useless words. He is already regretting this business arrangement - working for the Archagent had been a hassle at best, and an utter chore at worst. What will make this time any different?

Hey! Are ya even listening to me, barks the Straggler, snapping his fingers at the Drifter.

Nope, replies the Drifter. His fingers twitch as the Straggler glares up at him.

If the Drifter _had_ been listening, he would have known that they had arrived, announces the Straggler, gesturing toward the conflagration.

They both stand stock still before the flaming hot bones that were not so flaming hot mere moments ago.

So, is this place supposed to be on fire, asks the Drifter.

FUCK NO, shouts the Straggler.

**⇒ WHILE THE STRAGGLER YELLS AND FLAILS AND THE DRIFTER STANDS BY; WHAT IN SKAIA HAPPENED HERE?**

Here’s the skinny -

When the unactivated bomb landed on the blaze, nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zippo.

Except CD then looks down, notices his own handiwork, and starts yelling. HB asks what the fuck is CD going on about, follows CD’s pointing finger, and sees the bomb. That's a bomb, says CD. HB processes that it is a bomb.

HB punches the bomb. It flies, explodes - but it’s mostly dud and releases a sooty oily mess rather than a proper demonstration of brilliance and light. It’s gross, but hey! No Explosion means no dying! Celebrate!

_Except!_

Their skeleton hideout is very dry. It managed to escape unscathed from CD’s previous shenanigans, but now parts of it are very covered with this highly flammable glorp. The wind blows at the bonfire, and _oh boy_! The bones catch, and the flames lick and climb and dance. HB is _not_ having it, and rushes to put out the flames with -

You guessed it! His fists!

He beats the blaze, and CD cheers him on, then HB’s mighty strength cracks the great and ancient bones. And the Skeleton collapses around them, crackling and snapping and screaming under the tremendous strain of a lifetime lived and unlived. It's over for you now, undead beast. Rest as you burn away.

Then HB grabs CD and runs.

**⇒ SMACK DAB INTO THE DRIFTER AND THE STRAGGLER**

The whole party trip and fall atop each other, a tangle of limbs and shouting carapace, kicking up sand and beating each other up in the absolute mayhem. What’s left is a disgruntled heap of bared teeth and bruised egos - not including the Deadbeat, who is having a grand ol time.

The Straggler clambers out of the fool stack, yelling about What Gives and Who The Fuck Are Yous and sees that what collided with him are familiar faces from Skaiaside - one big lumbering idiot, and one bigger miniature idiot.

The heftier idiot rises, says I could say the same for you, and looks just about ready to throw a fist in the Straggler’s direction.

Now, the Straggler is always raring to go and fight someone to the death, but upon seeing this huge-as-fuck clod of coworker from the homeworld, he is suddenly hit with a brilliant idea - so he rushes forward and stabs the Heartless Bandit harmlessly at his side. HB roars, trying to swat the Straggler away, but the Straggler keeps sidestepping him, and brandishing his second knife at the enemy hand whenever it approaches.

The Straggler has a proposition for the Bandit, if he’d just put down his dukes for a damn second.

The Bandit growls, says nothing, still fruitlessly trying to pry this pesky embodiment of an enraged bee off of him.

Sure, you can try to kill me now (emphasis on _try_ ), but _what if_ you _don’t_ kill me and have a guaranteed opportunity to beat the shit out of so many others.

HB squints at the Straggler, who is still evading the incoming hands.

You know me, says the Straggler as he ducks out of the way. The Straggler is making things happen. Aren’t ya bored being out here with nothing to do? He knows he certainly is.

HB pauses mid swing, and shoots a dirty look at the Straggler, appraising this offer. Of course the Bandit knows the Straggler, how could he forget such an unappeasable wretch, always tired and overworked of his own volition, yelling about one miserable thing or another. He also doesn’t doubt that the Straggler’s going to change things around here. The Straggler is a creature who values might, waved around his power back in the day, browbeating people left and right. He was a shit, but he knew what he was doing. Things he wanted, the Straggler did not stop until he got it.

Fine, rumbles HB, lowering his arms in concession.

Great, says the Straggler with a victorious grin as he unstabs his knife.

When the Straggler steps away from HB, the Bandit delivers a forceful blow to the Straggler’s abdomen - then walks away to cool off, swearing under his breath.

I want to join too, chirps CD, bouncing his legs on the sand.

Sure, fuck, whatever, wheezes the Straggler.

The Straggler scowls at the Drifter, who had been sitting with the Deadbeat and enjoying the show.

Thanks for the fucking help, snarls the Straggler.

You’re welcome, replies the Drifter.

**⇒ THUS THE DERSITE OFFICE MONKEYS REUNITE (WHEN’S THEIR ALBUM COMING OUT?)**

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ⇒ WEEKS INTO THE FUTURE, BUT NOT MANY...
> 
> This unlikely boyband has just about had it with one another.

 

 

 

 

****

**[by Ihasafandom]**

**⇒ WEEKS INTO THE FUTURE, BUT NOT MANY...**

This unlikely boyband has just about had it with one another.

The Straggler huffs, dodging both DD and HB who were closing in on him, trying snatch the map from his hands. He threatens them with his knives, saying that if they don’t trust him to lead the way, then they can just leave! Fine! Go away! The Straggler doesn’t need ungrateful clowns hounding him about every decision he makes.

The Drifter sighs, leaning against his staff, because unfortunately for him, he’s in in for the long haul. The Straggler has wasted too much of the Drifter’s time of doing nothing much, and DD is still waiting to cash in on his promised reward. So no, he’s not leaving - he will, however, break the Straggler’s legs in order to slow him down. They have been wandering this forsaken desert guided by a moron with the navigational sense of a rock. They had been slated to arrive at ‘some place, you’ll know it when you see it’ two nights ago - no dice.

The Bandit snipes that maybe if the Straggler trusted _them_ as well, they wouldn’t be so fucking lost. The Straggler is fuckin lucky the Bandit is holding himself back (because he can’t read the map either shh). They’ve already had the intense misfortune of being caught under the sun, and HB is _not_ interested in acting as shade again.

They are _not_ lost, and the Straggler will break _your_ legs, _fuck you very much!_

Ahead of the bickering trio marches the Deadbeat. He’s listened to this song and dance more times than he can count (granted, he’s not very good at counting.)

The first few arguments were fun, he’d pipe in, throw some rocks around, contribute! But there’s only so many times he can find the same shit being hashed out any sort of enjoyable. They always stop short of outright murdering one another, and the monotony of it all is boring CD to death.

He kicks at the dust, listless - when suddenly!

With a surprised whoop, the Cheerful Deadbeat slips into a rift hidden by the surrounding sand. He lands with a resounding thud upon a metal surface, breath knocked to hell outta him. Above, he hears the yapping of his comrades, muffled and echoey. With some effort, he props himself up, and has a look around from where he touched down.

**⇒ WHAT DOES HE SEE?**

It is dim - beams of moonlight peer through the ceiling, scattered by dust. A softer light glows from the opposite side of the chamber, where the section of wall opens up to the outside world. There are boxes upon boxes all stacked up against the walls of the enclosure - big, wooden, and sealed.

HELLOOOO-OOO-O, bellows the Cheerful Deadbeat, and a ghostly melody of noise reverberates all throughout.

Hey pipsqueak, the fuck you down doing here, barks a sharp face peeking out from the hole CD fell through - before that face subsequently falls through the hole as well.

**⇒ PUSHED! I WAS FUCKING PUSHED!**

DD drops in, landing with a cat’s grace. He scans the room, and turns to let HB know about the other entrance, but the colossal lout had already tried to shove himself through the inadequate aperture.

I’m stuck, says he.

So you are, says the Drifter.

…

...

WELL GET ME OUTTA HERE OR ELSE, the Bandit blusters, which is hard to take seriously when one is stuck ass up from a ceiling.

I know what, cackles the Cheerful Deadbeat, springing to his feet (and accidentally kicking the still prone Straggler in the kisser.)

Explosives!

Explosives?! Says everyone, alarmed.

Wasting no time, CD proceeds to fling some friendly little firecrackers to aid in the release of the Bandit from that dastardly entryway.

Concurrently, the Drifter dashes outta the way, dragging the Straggler along with him.

**⇒ WITH A BANG! CRACKLE! POP! THE BANDIT IS FREED FROM HIS INCORRIGIBLE PREDICAMENT**

Drifter and Straggler wave through the resulting smoke to find the Bandit quite indented in the floor, groaning and moaning, but otherwise unharmed.

And what of the tiny man of the hour?

He's on the floor as well, and he's cracking up.

**⇒ OH WHAT A TIME TO BE ALIVE!**

There is unintended but completely expected destruction, manifesting as a bunch of broken crates, giving the party a first glimpse of their untouched contents.

It's stacks of packs of cans of _something_. The Straggler opens it and hands it to the Drifter who hands it to the Bandit who hands it to the Deadbeat, who takes a swig. It’s warm, tastes shitty, odd, even _alien_ , but it's unmistakable -

The Deadbeat holds the can up triumphantly, bright green, dull sheen -

Booze!

And in no time at all these bad-mood-bustards have their spirits lifted on high.

 

 

 

 

 

**[by Ihasafandom]**

**⇒ THESE ROWDY BOYS SETTLE DOWN FOR THE NIGHT**

Nights stretch-out long and relentless here on this dead planet, and for weeks the idiot parade had been marching nonstop - much to the chagrin of the non Scurrilous Straggler entities. Such travels consisted of the Straggler picking out sections of map he’d like to explore, surveying the land for himself, and scrawling his own notes on the margins of a battered porn magazine. He had insisted on using the darkness to the fullest extent that it can allow, accounting for map reading mistakes ( _like_ the Straggler makes mistakes, c’mon) and for seeking shelter.

That hadn’t always worked out (much to the chagrin of the Straggler.)

Now, with a place to stay secured, a warm fire, some food found in the other crates, and some fucking _booze_ \- these fools can actually _kick back_.

And kick back they do. HB inspects his paper scrap collection, arranging them every which way, and humming an old tune. The Straggler is half-heartedly looking through his map, gazing up at the fire once in a while and absently chewing on his thumb. The Drifter runs his claws along his weapon, lazily observing his companions, and keeping himself still.

They drink by the fire, and there’s a marked silence hanging in the air that had not been present before in the few weeks they have known each other. CD grabs at this opportunity with something he’s been wanting to do with his shiny and new group of travelling buddies.

Anyone know any good stories, he proffers, hopeful, claws drumming against the can in his hand.

The Straggler shushes him harshly, says that there will be none of this of this story crap, whatever fireside ideal the Deadbeat has in his little head.

The Bandit knows some, he volunteers amicably. He is quite sated, and thus in a great mood. He loves a good tale, and loves telling one even more.

Ya, ya! Let’s hear it, says CD, clapping his hands in excitement.

No! That’s lame! And boring - back me up, Drifter!

The Drifter sips at his alcohol, and says that he doesn’t care. They can do whatever they wish - he plans on listening to none of it.

**⇒ THE BANDIT CRACKS HIS KNUCKLES AND BEGINS HIS TALE**

 

> _There were two pawns out on the battlefield, a Prospitian and a Dersite, who were made of tougher stuff than the rest of them. Loyal, cutthroat, and bloodthirsty - they were fellas who attacked their enemies with no remorse, and left endless carnage in their wake. They were deathless - just simple, small pawns with such short pitiful lifespans in war - yet they persisted beyond everything._

Already, this is a terrible start, grumbles the Straggler as he downs another can.

The Deadbeat hits him softly, commanding him to shush. Don’t be such a spoilsport, CD scolds.

Hey - !

Sh!

 

> _When they met on the battlefield, the Dersite laughed. Is this creature my enemy, or just an ugly walking corpse. The Prospitian scoffed. Is this a battle, or a joke. Their swords clashed, a shower of guts and blood, but neither of them yielded. Both were recalled in a tactical retreat, otherwise they would have never stopped exchanging blows._
> 
> _And so those suckers fought their fated war, coming together again and again, each narrowly evading death by the other’s hand. They were impressed by the other’s might, that raw blinding power used to end life, the brutality in which they reveled in._

The Straggler snorts. A Prospitian on par with a Dersite? The Straggler has met many a dimwitted Blackshell, but none of them prissies back on that tacky golden ball can match his kind.

The Drifter tsks. Says that hey, they are all made of the same stuff - cloned in labs since the beginning of Paradox Space. He is pretty sure that any Whiteshell worth their salt can easily outwit the drunken dullard sitting next to him.

Didn’t the Drifter say he wasn’t paying the rest of them any mind, huh? The Straggler is calling on his bluff, so maybe the Drifter should just shut up.

And the Drifter isn’t paying attention to the story, he says, cocking his head at the Straggler. He’s simply reminding the Straggler that maybe he should practice humility some time. Maybe the others would like to hear of a rather embarrassing incident of the Straggler’s involving mail and a particularly long set of stairs perhaps?

The Straggler snarls and tenses up, but before he can burst, the Bandit strikes the crate next to him and smashes it to bits. Can he continue with his fucking story?

Please do, says the Drifter, handing the Straggler another can to shut him up.

 

> _They called each other trash. Then My Enemy. Then My Rival. Then My Lover._
> 
> _They fell into a mad passion with each other, embroiled by both vicious collisions and explosive trysts. They fucked, in short._

Well now you’re talking, hoots the Straggler, who is immediately silenced i.e. smacked by the Drifter, elbowed by the Deadbeat, and hit in the face with a can by the Bandit.

Alright, alright! The Straggler gets the picture.

 

> _Until one day, the Dersite fell into a clever trap, and was ripped apart by a jeering crowd of soldiers. The Dersite was stripped of their shell, leaving raw, soft, bleeding skin; their eyes were clawed out by eager fingers; their body perforated by knives - unable to even fight back because they were held down by the ravenous horde. Their death was swift, and excruciatingly painful._
> 
> _To the swarm, it was a victory. To the Prospitian, it seemed like the deepest betrayal. One of their Kismet, for succumbing in such a disgraceful manner, and one of their comrades, for leaving the Prospitian bereft of their rival._
> 
> _And so they turned on their fellows, and then they were exiled._
> 
> _They were destitute of purpose. Bereaved of their love. And so the warrior wasted away, pitifully alone, and full of loss._
> 
> _Still, it is said that a white and rust red wraith haunts the bloodiest zones of the battlefield, looking for victims to tear asunder, in memory of their doomed adversary._

CD claps when the Bandit finishes, and HB gives a sheepish bow. The Drifter gives HB a fresh drink, then lifts his own can in toast to him. That was pretty good, says he. It is lamentable that the telling of the tale kept getting halted by a rather short and aggravating grouch who shall not be named. That elicits a hearty chuckle from the Bandit

The Straggler, on the other hand, sits slouched and scowling, muttering loudly about ‘dumb stories about things that do not matter’.

Would you like to say something, asks the Drifter with a smirk.

The Straggler opens his mouth, but whatever he might have said gets drowned out by the Deadbeat, who waves his arms around because he’s got a story of his own to tell!

HB claps CD on the back (who nearly flies out of his seat), and says let’s hear it then!

Drifter mentioned cloning earlier, and it reminded the Deadbeat of some folktales about the labs that the drolls used to tell each other in the nooks and crevices where they hid to take breaks back on Derse.

Those were the good ol' days, sighs the Bandit.

Not good enough, grumbles the Straggler.

Now now, no heckling, says the Drifter genially as he pushes the Straggler’s head down to his knees. Let’s hear what the Deadbeat has to say, he chides. The Straggler struggles, but HB joins in on crushing him, snickering as the Straggler barks obscenities at the both of them.

The Straggler commands both of them to stop with this nonsense! The Drifter says only if the Straggler can shut up and maybe enjoy something, for once. It’s not that hard.

The Deadbeat says that the Straggler will get his own chance to tell his story, so he doesn’t even have to worry about it!

Straggler growls like hell he will tell any sort of stupid story!

But you’ll get to talk all you want, and we’ll be forced to listen, isn’t that what you enjoy the most, says the Drifter.

But it better be something good, huffs the Bandit, or else he’ll kick the Straggler out of camp and he can sit outside and get eaten for all he cares.

Fine! Whatever, snarls the Straggler, i’ll play along with your dumb games.

DD and HB glance at each other, while the Straggler casts them a withering glare. HB looks exasperated, and DD shrugs. They both let the Straggler go, and CD rubs his hands together gleefully.

**⇒ THE DEADBEAT ASKS IF HE CAN STEAL THEM AWAY**

 

> _Carapaces are made, y’know. Before being shipped out into the workforce of Skaia, they are cloned in The Veil. It is a place that is gray, with sections harshly lit with a blinding whiteness, and even more spaces void of light. This is a place that is empty. This is a place that is barren. It’s actually sort of funny that this is a place where life is created._
> 
> _All Carapaces are made there; the facility is their first memory._
> 
> _But can you remember those Carapaces who never left? Those Carapaces, still damp from the ectogoop; still unused to light; still waiting for their minds to settle; malformed rasping things, struggling to breathe the cold, thin air - what happened to them?_
> 
> _They were whisked away by tightly clasped metal claw._
> 
> _Not even given a name. Not even given a purpose._
> 
> _Because they were mistakes._
> 
> _Deemed too broken to live._
> 
> _Unable to serve their function._
> 
> _Their bodies discarded, then made anew._
> 
> _You would think that it wouldn’t happen as often as it did - but it was such a fragile, unforgiving system. With even a tiny change of code, a Carapace could end up with gaping holes in their shell, guts spilling out as they were carried off; there were those that were just a ball of arms that would twitch and convulse ineffectually as the claw clutched them, as if acknowledging their fate; others yet still grasped desperately toward the floor, trying their hardest to free themselves, piercing the air with their wretched wailing._
> 
> _Don’t forget them, pawns say to each other._
> 
> _That could have been been any of us. It had been one of us._
> 
> _And so they don’t forget. They tell this tale in memory of those who had no chance at all. They gotta remember that there is something greater than them at stake - and the price of that is steep. And only the pawns know that. It is a sacrifice that matters only to the most insignificant._

CD ends his tale with jazz hands, and HB picks him up and noogies the little guy affectionately. Quite the tale, he says, pretty fucked up stuff you got rattling around the ol noggin. CD beams at the compliment. HB has heard of little stories like those, and he tries his best to think if he’s experienced anything like the story tells, but that past is distant and has long since labelled unimportant in his mind.

The Straggler squints at CD, who had told the story quite fondly, as if talking about a particularly good memory. He shouldn’t be surprised anymore - somehow the light-hearted tone only added to the gross imagery.

Gross, says the Straggler.

Aw, but it’s true, chirps CD.

If it were so true, then why doesn’t the Straggler recall anything like that, huh? He doesn't even remember the labs - who even does? It's all just pawn hoo-ha bullshit.

CD sniffs and HB roars and punches the Straggler in the face. The Straggler growls; he would attack back if his arm was not now held firmly by the Drifter, who frankly is not interested currently in what sort of nonsense could follow.

Shut up, both of you, you’re giving me a headache, snips the Drifter.

(To be honest, the Straggler doesn't like the idea that his entire being could have been so easily snuffed out. He refuses to acknowledge it. Instead he guzzles down more alcohol with his free arm and tosses the empty can behind him. He keeps his grumbling to a minimum.)

Satisfied that the Straggler isn't going to go on another rampage, DD lets go of him.

He empties his own can, then congratulates CD on a story well told. CD grins and gives DD double finger guns.

Now if everyone would be so kind as to stay silent (DD looks pointedly at the Straggler, who sulkily lolls his tongue), DD has his own tale to tell, and no, Straggler, it's not the one about the stairs.

That's a shame, says HB.

Indeed, replies DD. Maybe next time.

Oh shut it, snaps the Straggler, relieved.

**⇒ THE DRIFTER LEANS CLOSE TO THE FIRE FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT**

 

> _Have something a little closer to home._
> 
> _On Derse, there were two high ranked officials, gunning for the same position which opened up due to unimportant circumstances._
> 
> _One won over the other, of course. For brevity’s sake, one was named the Pernicious Emissary and the other, the Rancorous Administrator._
> 
> _RA celebrated their win on the streets, riotous in their victory. They even paraded around with an insulting effigy of their competitor - so tickled they were in their authority that they just did whatever they pleased. They got away with it. They bulldozed entire businesses to replace them with statues of themself and royalty (to schmooze, of course), and enacted laws in shameless pleasure, scorned the Emissary in the newspapers, and stole candies from Drolls; nobody could bat an eye._
> 
> _When they were finally sworn into their office, they had a grand feast right in the queen’s hall - with all the most celebrated of politicians and aristocrats and high-horsed schlumps in attendance; they had a great new office that overlooked the splendorous visage of the high towers, and sharp courts, and the squirming masses of the populace; They received a mansion in the renovated sectors of the kingdom, highly guarded by loyal, brain-dead bozos._
> 
> _All in all, everything in their life fell into place, and was perfect._
> 
> _The end._

Don’t fuck with us, snaps the Straggler.

He throws a can at the Drifter’s head, who lazily dodges it and goes for the Straggler’s throat - he’s then bodily restrained by HB, who releases DD only when he’s cast a reproachful look by CD.

The Drifter clears his throat.

 

> _No?_
> 
> _Fine, fine, there’s more._
> 
> _There’s always more._
> 
> _RA lived a luxurious life, despite the ongoing war. In these sorts of affairs, Derse always, always came out on top, and RA lived comfortably in their bureaucratic privilege._
> 
> _That is, until one day, they noticed that some of their files were out of order. It wasn’t anything dramatic, but it seemed rather remiss of them to make such a mistake. They put it back in its place, and moved on._
> 
> _But it happened again. And again._
> 
> _Soon, they noticed the other things. Paintings slightly shifted to the left, a bowl of candy half emptied, a rumpled shirt hanging in the closet instead of being in the laundry basket. Small things. Maddening things._
> 
> _Then it stopped being small. Their windows were broken, their electric appliances were tampered with, their documents stolen and forged, and laws passed under RA’s name that enraged their superiors._
> 
> _RA went off and accused PE of being a stupid, bitter twat  - as if the Administrator would not catch wind of the Emissary’s games. But no, PE had alibis aplenty, as they have had their own promotions, and have more important things to do than to ‘harass some ugly codger’. RA tried to get PE exiled, but PE’s work was exemplary enough on paper to keep them from getting tossed. RA tried having PE assassinated, but they never heard back from their mercenaries._
> 
> _Until one day RA woke up, blind folded, tied to a chair, and hearing a subtle grating sound of metal against metal. And before they knew it they were being struck heavily - at their joints, their torso, their limbs - each blow precise, slow, and calculated. The Administrator cursed. They threatened. They begged. They wailed. They received no reply._
> 
> _And then they died. The end._

The end, huffs the Straggler.

The end, replies the Drifter.

That’s stupid, says the Straggler, crossing his arms, petulant look on his face like the run of the mill bastard he is.

Oh yeah? Have something better, challenges the Bandit, jabbing a finger at the Straggler (who would bite said finger if they were closer together.)

Yeah, yeah, tell us a story, hoots the Deadbeat, pumping his fists gleefully (all according to keikaku, interruptive squabbling aside).

As a matter a fact, the Straggler does have a better yarn to spin! (CD whoops in approval) He stands, and falls backward immediately, absolutely hammered.

You can start any time now, says DD as he leans over the Straggler.

Get your ugly excuse for a face out of my face, snarls the Straggler, pushing himself up, and knocking their heads together.

And what are you going to do about it, jeers the Drifter, pushing back and closing the space between them.

Yeah, what are you gonna do, yells the Deadbeat with a running start as he canonballs into the Straggler and the Drifter.

The Drifter looks up just in time to yelp, wait, no - !

Before being smooshed into an idiot sandwich.

Sorry fellas, says HB following suit with an elegant elbow drop, gotta keep it PG over here. He crashes gracefully into the janky jumble of jerks; CD simply gets squashed by that big body; DD experiences the brunt of the elbow situation, leaving him wincing and wheezing nonchalantly; the Straggler manages to back crawl enough to get away with minimal damage - with the added bonus of seeing DD’s eyes bulge out as he got what he so patently deserves.

The Straggler bursts out laughing at the sight. Here he is, drunk, dirty, and finally done in by his gathered group of losers. He sits up and and and yells at everyone to listen up!

**⇒ HERE IS THE GREATEST STORY EVER TOLD, YOU’RE WELCOME**

 

> _There is this guy, see, who is fucking great. Amazing. A top-tier one-of-a-kind ace-in-the-hole who is an abso-fucking-lutely talented construct of Paradox Space. And his supreme brain was being wasted! Doing! Menial! Paperworking! Bullshit!_
> 
> _And this guy, lemme tell ya, was exceptional. At. His. Stupid. Fucking. Useless. Job._
> 
> _Day in and day out, he processed tickets and files and reports for the whole of Derse. How could one single guy do all this damn work? Who knows! But he did it! And it was like his head was being bashed in by asteroids crashing down by the sheer banality of it all._
> 
> _Not to mention there was this woman! Fuck! She humiliated him, toyed with him, dressed him up like some kind of doll, gave him commands like he some kind of barkbeast. She was breathtaking in her loathsome airs. She treated him like trash, lorded her power over him, forced him to suck up to her just so that he could get her to approve vital documents. And she would just stand there being infuriatingly mesmerizing, mocking him with her stature and her gaze that told him that He. Was. Nothing._
> 
> _And so he made his plans, and did her in._
> 
> _And now he’s here. At a nothing place. A barren joke of a planet. But jokes on fate, because this guy has even bigger plans. Huge plans. He’s climbing out of this garbage hole and is going to come out on fucking top._

Listen here, numbskulls, things are gonna change around these parts, proclaims the Straggler. He wriggles outta the pile and hops up before them, feet unsteady, back lit by the fire, and face an odd mix of hard-set determination and sappy pride.

They’ve been wondering about where they were all headed? Well, if they must know -

He picks up his map and waves it at his crew. See this, he says as he taps the map on a group of toppled rectangles cupped by large triangles at the corner of the worn paper. This here is where the Straggler is gonna make his mark on this world. He’s gonna build a fucking city! It’s gonna be the stuff of dreams! And! He opens up his arms toward the other fools - they all have the privilege of helping him achieve that!

CD launches himself at the Straggler, capturing that chump in a hug. HB stands and pulls DD up with him, and they join in jostling the Straggler while he barks at them yet doesn’t resist.

Admit it, says DD elbowing the Straggler in the face, you need us.

Nah, says SS, swatting up at the bastard. He couldn’t care less if they’d just up and left right this instant. But they better fucking don’t, because reasons. Like they’ve gotten this far holy fuck they better stick around, lest they wanna regret even agreeing to join him!!!

That’s good enough for me, booms HB as he throws his arm around all of them and sweeps them off their feet.

SS yells that this is getting gross and he should be let down this instant. CD enjoys his air time, and trills with delight. DD just smirks - if he wasn’t a bit under the influence he would protest - but right now it’s not that bad.

**⇒ THE NIGHT CLOSES ON THEIR STORY AS WELL, ITSELF TO BE TOLD ANOTHER DAY**

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ⇒ ONWARD AND UPWARD THESE FOOLS GO
> 
> When we see our favorite troupe of twits once more, they are pressed against a rock only slightly larger than HB. The sun is at its apex, its brightness sizzling the sand. Our hapless heroes do their best to hide from the horrid heat. On days like these there is no true rest - they must shuffle with the shadow as the sun creeps along the naked sky. And so they take shifts, to let the others catch a few winks while someone keeps watch and keeps them away from direct sunlight

**⇒ ONWARD AND UPWARD THESE FOOLS GO**

When we see our favorite troupe of twits once more, they are pressed against a rock only slightly larger than HB. The sun is at its apex, its brightness sizzling the sand. Our hapless heroes do their best to hide from the horrid heat. On days like these there is no true rest - they must shuffle with the shadow as the sun creeps along the naked sky. And so they take shifts, to let the others catch a few winks while someone keeps watch and keeps them away from direct sunlight.

It is the Straggler’s shift at the moment, but truth be told he has not been getting much rest at all. They are so close to their destination, he can feel it in his bones - and see it on his map. The fallen city is surrounded by mountains - there’s a wider access point on the other side of the mountains relative to his crew, but he is gunning for one of the entrance tunnels along the great ridges of earth, marked by X’s and lines on the map’s triangle. There are a few hours yet of travel before they can even reach the foot of these mountains, and so they wait for sundown. The Straggler vibrates with excitement, which in his current state mostly means his head exists in a haze of single focus. Get to the city.

He glances at his dozing companions - they're all exhausted, and running low on rations. CD is tucked amongst a gaggle of legs, DD has his arms stiffly clutching his staff, and HB is braced against the rock like his life depended on it. They aren't as eager as he is, snippy with hunger and heat, but they have to hold out. There's no giving up now.

A guttural shriek pierces the air, startling the napping carapaces awake, and snapping the Straggler from his stupor. From the sand emerges a white scaly head, teal veins visible and pulsing from the inside of its gaping maw.

The creature lunges at them, and they scatter out from under the sliver of shadow, into the burning light.

Straggler rallies his crew toward him, both his hands brandishing their respective knives. The four run back while the creature is still turned to the rock, hoping to keep clear of its dangerous bite.

The creature’s whole body is out of the sand now - a long writhing thing, train of clawed legs run along its stark white body. It twists around, looking for its prey, great fat tail throwing sand into the air, making everything hard to see.

The Straggler shouts directions into the mess. Time is of the essence as they are exposed to the sun - they need to take down this monster _fast_.

HB jumps on the back of the beast, striking it down. He charges up at it’s head, arms wrapping around it’s jaw trying to restrain it, and even then he’s being shaken to and fro. DD jumps on after him whacking at the monster’s head with his staff, and bludgeoning its eyes to a pulpy bloody mess. The beast cries out in pain, thrashing more frantic. Below, SS rips through the creature’s body with his knives. He races from tail to head, blindly stabbing and barely dodging the many flailing legs.

From above they all hear loud hey there’s and how do you do’s - its the Deadbeat in position atop the tall rock. That’s the Drifter’s cue to scram, and the Bandit’s to wrench open that nasty craw.

CD dives off the rock, hurtling toward that wet teal mouth. He readies the last of his bombs, and pitches them down the great lizard’s gullet. HB shuts the creature’s jaws once more, and CD crashes into its face, and holds on for dear life.

A beat - then the creature jolts - it’s head slams against the desert floor; tail’s last swing catching the Straggler unwares, sending him flying.

Then a stillness.

**⇒ THEN A PIERCING SILENCE**

DD darts toward the unmoving creature cautiously. The sand settles around him, and he can finally make out where HB and CD are lying prone. He hurries to them, helps them up, and directs them toward the shade. He can’t see the Straggler anywhere, and the world is already spinning too much. He makes the decision to join his comrades in the shade. One body is better than two.

**⇒ TIMES PASSES EXCRUCIATINGLY SLOW FOR THOSE WHO WAIT**

When the sun sets, the rag tag trio set out to find their self proclaimed leader.

CD hops along ahead of DD and HB, calling out for the Straggler. HB snipes that DD should have gotten SS earlier, so they wouldn’t be having this problem now. DD says that maybe _HB_ should have been the one walking around out there, looking for some idiot who isn’t answering back, under the fucking _sun_ of all things. HB snaps that he and CD were whacked around by the monster as well, and where was DD? Hiding behind the damn rock??? DD squares his shoulders, barely containing a snarl, when CD yells that hey! He’s found SS!

They walk over while CD unearths the Straggler who landed a long ways off, half buried in sand. He was unable to be roused no matter how much SS is shaken, slapped, or shouted at.

Is he dead, CD wonders aloud as he lets go of the Straggler’s shoulders.

He better not be, says DD, nudging the Straggler’s body with his foot. They can’t have gone all this way following one talkative bastard for him to just die from something as dumb as being whacked by a lizard tail. And from severe heat stroke. And sheer exhaustion. The Drifter tsks, then kicks the Straggler’s abdomen - he gets a weak groan, but otherwise, nothing. Well, he tried. SS is not dead, at least. He stops CD from also kicking SS, who wanted to try more wake up methods.

We can’t just leave him here, says CD. He’s pretty hyped about the city plans SS keeps spouting on about, and he’s got to say, he’s gotten pretty fond of his current companions. Not to mention that they’re the longest lasting group he’s been with, which is really something wonderful.

Yeah, yeah, sighs HB. If it were up to him, they would have stayed in the bunker for longer, maybe beef up some more, gather more energy - not rush out into the open arms of perilous existence. But, the Straggler had been moving while drunk. And everyone was in too much of a good mood after a day’s rest. And here they are.

HB slings SS over his shoulder after they all decide that It would be too annoying to drag the Straggler around. It would be kind of like dangling bait into the open void.

They head back toward the whole bloody dead mess (which had been deemed unsafe to eat by HB [from experience, he says]), and keep shuffling their way forward until the Bandit asks if they even know where they’re going.

Of course we know where we’re going, snaps the Drifter. After that whole gross personal connecting ordeal in the bunker, the Straggler had been a little more forthright with his big and important plans. A little too much, if you ask DD, given as SS wouldn’t shut up about it.

HB takes out the map anyway, which had been shoved down the Straggler’s pants, and gingerly sets it flat on the ground. It’s completely covered in scribbles of the Straggler’s own devising - it’s everything from marking new landmarks, to notes on the future possibilities of the area, to little doodles of himself standing around, yelling. There’s even a few unflattering drawings of the others.

How the fuck did he use this to navigate, says HB, scratching his head looking at the utter chaos that is the Straggler’s map.

He's a mess, so it checks out, scoffs DD. Leave it to the Straggler to create some indecipherable bullshit only he can understand.

HB taps on one of the X’s that indicate the tunnels. They should orient themselves to head straight there, to reach it as fast as possible. They don’t want to be caught in the stupid lizard situation again, they’re tired as fuck, with no food, very little water, and face the threat of the blight that is the sun since it looks to be open land until they reach the mountains. SS said they have a few more hours until they reach their destination, right? He points to a tunnel to the right of where they are, says they’ll get there fast and easy.

Why don’t we just just climb over those damn hills if you’re in such a hurry, the Drifter retorts. To tell the truth, the Drifter had thought that going toward the tunnels is the best option, but the Bandit had said it first and he is _not_ taking orders from _that_ buffoon. DD points to a tunnel left of where they are and says that that is obviously the more logical choice, you incorrigible ding-dong.

Obvious, how is that obvious, that area’s littered in spikes and mazes on the way, spits out the Bandit, getting in the Drifter’s face.

Those can be navigated through, unlike where the right tunnel located, which seems to be littered with pits, craters, and holes galore! That is an absolute nightmare, and the Bandit should know that, hisses the Drifter, jabbing a pointed claw at HB’s face.

HB tosses the unconscious body of the Straggler to the side, and grabs DD’s arm, snarling - DD jabs HB’s gut with the sharp end of his staff, causing HB to let go. They are both poised to strike when -

Everybody! Shut up and listen to me, declares the Deadbeat, slapping both HB and DD at once. They shoot him dirty looks, but the Deadbeat rolls onward, ever chipper.

We’re gonna just keep walking forward! The tall hills are just there in front of us, there isn’t anything in the way, and by then the Straggler would probably be awake with some Ace up his sleeve, hey!

The fight could have gotten more interesting, but the Deadbeat knows what is more exciting, and he wants to do the Straggler proud. Look, says the Deadbeat, we’re all pretty much alive - can’t say the same for a lot of other Carapaces he’s known. They either all killed each other, or got attacked by roaming murderers, or sometimes just got caught in rogue explosions (ahem). All the guys right here, right now? A winning combination! Let’s not waste that!

DD and HB glare down at CD, completely unmoved.

Or the Deadbeat could leave them both here to argue, fight, kill each other, and possibly get exposed to the sun _again_ \- but this time the survivor shall be alone! It’s their choice!

CD crosses his arms and punctuates his speech with a cheeky grin.

HB’s face breaks, shaking his head while barely containing his laughter. Oh man, the Deadbeat got him there!

DD snorts. Fine. He concedes to CD’s plan.

The Deadbeat fist pumps, and yells heck yeah, runs forward triumphantly, and trips over the body of the Scurrilous Straggler.

He raises his hand in a thumbs up! He’s ok!

**⇒ WITH EFFECTIVE AND LOVING HASSLING, THE DEADBEAT GETS THE BALL ROLLING ON THIS TRAIN TO SOMEWHERE!**

Everyone is feeling the last legs of their journey.

CD leads, and as promised, they walk straight forward. He worries though that SS still hasn’t woken from his beauty sleep - the Straggler would absolutely hate to miss out on anything. He checks to see if his two friends are keeping it clean back there. They’re both frowning, but that’s it, so that’s swell!

DD is both bored and antsy. He knows he shouldn’t waste energy needling HB of his various flaws, but it’s very tempting, just to alleviate the twitchiness. He looks back at HB, who’s still got the Straggler slung over his shoulder. They make eye contact and HB asks if DD wants to be the one carrying the bossman. DD respectfully declines, and walks faster.

HB just wants to sleep, and eat, and maybe throw something really far. Preferably one snobbish dickbag, but he’s not picky. Well, he’s got SS in his arms, so maybe… But they just got him back _from_ being thrown so, he probably shouldn’t.

How much longer is this going to take, HB grumbles, shifting SS onto his other shoulder.

Well we’ll know we’ve reached the mountain when we’ve reached the damned mountain, says DD tersely.

Both of them should shut up, and look up there, titters CD as he points to the sky.

And lo and behold, they spy a white many-winged creature, about the Deadbeat’s size.

DD asks if that could be -

HB confirms that yes. _That_ is very edible.

They spring into action

They jog to keep up with the soaring snack. HB discards SS and all his belongings for now, so he can run unfettered. He also scoops up CD, who yips with surprise and delight.

DD tells HB to wait for it. HB yells that he can make the throw - and DD says he knows but wait!

The feathered beast’s travel path dips - do it now, commands DD - and HB chucks CD into the great firmament, and at their prize.

CD makes impact!

But it’s not over yet!

He wrestles with the bird midair, fighting back beak and teeth with his own, but he’s having a hard time keeping hold of the fowl.

Below, DD pulls back, and launches his staff with all his might. It spears the squirming shell and feathered mass, and Carapace and monster plunge to the earth and land in an explosion of sand and feathers.

HB and DD rush to the crash site, and springs up CD - he’s worse for wear, but he beams radiantly as he holds up their prey.

**⇒ THEY HEAD BACK TO PICK UP SS, WHO DESPITE EVERYTHING IS STILL PASSED THE FUCK OUT**

HB spends some time gathering up the tasty bits and removing some of the inedible stuff. It’s rough, but it’ll have to do. He eats some, and offers small morsels for the road to CD and DD. CD gladly takes it, but after a while it looks like it’s not sitting well in his stomach. DD on the other hand only takes a bite, and gives the rest back to HB, saying that they can cook it later when they’re safer, and that he isn’t an _animal_ , thank you very much. HB snorts, but doesn’t argue. He does, however, elbow DD pretty hard, and calls him a picky snit. DD whacks HB’s knees and calls him a churlish jackass. CD slaps both their asses and says they can flirt later.

**⇒ THEY ARE SO CLOSE. SO VERY CLOSE**

The sky slowly brightens as they reach the foot on the mountains.

DD leans against the rock, and surveys their surroundings. They can probably hide in some tight crevices for a bit, but it’s not sustainable. CD is doing a little recon (ie poking around the mountain wall and checking out the gentler slopes) and HB hangs around beside DD. SS is set down on the ground near their feet.

So, this is it, huh, states HB.

Yes. This is it, replies DD.

This is _what_ , mumbles a groggy SS.

HB sputters, Straggler - !

And SS shushes him for being too fucking loud. They help him to his feet, but he’s too weak to support himself, so he leans against the steep wall. Where the fuck are they, he asks, searching his pants for his map.

HB hands it to SS, who grumbles about keeping hands off his property, and unfolds the map and looks over it.

Unfortunately, there isn’t much time to get to either of the nearest tunnels, says the Drifter to the Straggler.

The Deadbeat sees that the Straggler has awoken, and excitedly hops on over to greet the Straggler into the waking world.

He lead the crew straight here, says the Deadbeat proudly.

Yeah? Good job, says the Straggler, looking from CD to the map to the wall behind them.

Maybe the Straggler didn’t hear the first time, says DD, but they’re in kind of a bind right now.

They’re fine, don’t worry about it, HB, punch this wall, says the Straggler, pointing to a part of the wall.

What - ?

Just do it, insists the Straggler. The sun is rising, so hurry it up!

HB just does it. Nothing.

The Straggler frantically indicates that the Bandit keep going.

And so the Bandit punches the wall again and again and again -

With one last strike, the wall collapses inward, revealing one of the tunnels.

This is it, declares the Scurrilous Straggler.

Wow, so it is, exclaims the Deadbeat.

**⇒ THEY ENTER THE TUNNEL’S DARK EMBRACE**

Not far from their self-made entrance, they finally stop to rest.

HB starts a fire and cooks up the meat. SS gets a good portion, which he devours without a word.

Awake _and_ silent, that’s a miracle, says DD, who receives a weak elbow to the side. He didn’t think it was possible, but he missed that.

Here ya go you prissy eater, says HB, handing DD a choice cut of the meat. Good enough for you, ey?

It will suffice, replies DD, smirking, graciously accepting the food.

The Straggler listens to the Deadbeat, who enthusiastically recounts how they got the bird they’re eating, and also talks about how he got the other two in line in order to reach the tall hills they’re in right now!

The Straggler nods along, and contemplates all of this. Yeah, reaching the city has been his one most important goal while in this desert, and yeah he’s spent some time gathering his current group of guys who he thinks have bona fide competences to aid him in his big plans. He’s asked these guys to trust him, because he’s a super great super talented construct of paradox space, who for sure will lead his dunderheads to the promised land. But somehow, he didn’t realize than they can do a good part of it on their own, without him? And that he can just, rely on them? Well obviously it was him in the end that saved all their asses, but. Gratitude is due, and he begrudgingly bestows it upon them.

Thanks, he says very quietly.

What’s that, asks the Drifter, leaning in and pressing against the Straggler.

The Straggler _said_ that they should stop dilly dallying and start walking! They didn’t come all this way for another campfire party! There isn’t even any booze this time!

Yeah sure, replies the Drifter with a grin.

**⇒ WITH AN ARM WRAPPED AROUND A MEMBER OF THE CREW, TURN BY TURN, THE SCURRILOUS STRAGGLER AND HIS CREW FINALLY WALK THE LAST STRETCH OF THEIR LONG JOURNEY**

They emerge from the dark tunnel into a massive open area with filtered light cascading from immense collapsed structures that were once great buildings in a great alien city. Even with this ancient architecture crumbling before them, there the feeling of an untouched wholeness still waiting for its potential to be harnessed.

The Scurrilous Straggler stumbles out of the support of his comrades, and only makes it a few steps before he’s brought to his knees from pure fatigue. But this is real. He never doubted that they would get here, but there’s something about actually being _here_ that floors him.

He did it.

 _They_ did it.

**[by Grubbutts]**

**⇒ THUS ENDS THIS CHAPTER OF THE MIDNIGHT CREW’S LONG BOOK OF BASTARD LIVING**


	4. Bonus Content

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character Cards and Carapace doodles

 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Like my work? Find me at http://glassesblu.tumblr.com/ or https://twitter.com/GlassesBlu


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